To Live
by mysticLegend11
Summary: Kurapika heads back to his desecrated hometown to search for clues, and he stumbles upon the clan's most dangerous secret. KurapikaxOC


To Live

Kurapika heads back to his desecrated hometown to search for clues, and he stumbles upon the clan's most dangerous secret. KurapikaxOC

This takes place after the Yorknew City arc as Kurapika is searching for the scarlet eyes. This contains spoilers for people who have not reached this point yet.

Chapter One

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Something was off. He could feel the unsettling sensation in his bones. From the countless years of honing his intellect and instinct, he knew when to trust his hunches. He had collected sixteen pairs of scarlet eyes, lifeless yet full of emotion. He could feel the tendrils of rage and despair emanate from them even now, paralyzed in time. He tried to track back every possessor of the scarlet eyes back to the original dealer. He thought it would be harder, but with some digging, threatening, and coaxing, he now had a database of information. Many eyes had changed hands multiple times, as he expected, but they all came from one source back to those eight years ago. A man that very few people had seen, reported to have the hairstyle like a horn, a huge beard, and a scar on his forehead. Something about the description reverberated deeply in his heart, but the answer remained elusive. It did not match the records of any Phantom Troupe member, former or current, or any associated persons thereof.

He searched the hunter forums and contacts for anyone matching that description, but nothing. Whoever this was covered his tracks well, and it already had been eight years. The fastest method, Kurapika realized, was also the most heart-wrenching.

He needed to go back to his hometown.

There he could search for clues of his clan's murderers. If he could find any traces of unfamiliar Nen, he could use that as a starting place, and use that aura to track his prey. Any remaining objects or DNA could also be considered, and he might gather enough evidence to do some complex dowsing spells.

He traveled day and night. The riddle gnawed at him, and he dreamt of that scar-ridden face. Phantom Troupe claimed responsibility for the Kurta clan massacre, but what if there was far more to it, and he had been too blinded by his rage to see clearly? But wasn't it far too late, with the blood of two members to stain his cross forever? He needed to know. He needed to know the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Here he was, finally. The forest was eerily quiet, but it was unmistakably home.

He had prepared himself for the past few weeks, bracing himself mentally for the consequences of this visit. But when the forest finally emerged, memories flooded his being.

The long windy trees brushed high upon the landscape like it was touching the sky. The air was warm with the scent of lilyleaves and honey. Blowing small zephyrs where they landed, butterflies danced around him.

The courtyard, where he studied ecology and discovered the magic of the forest's bounteous ecosystem. The winding path, where he walked to and fro between errands where his mother sent him to fetch books for his insatiable appetite for knowledge, or to pick up groceries or deliver messages. The stream from which he and Pairo first got water to save Sheila's life.

He could barely move, and when he could continue on his way only did he notice that his cheeks were damp.

_Control yourself,_ he reminded. _Emotions will complicate the purpose of this visit._

He practiced a meditative technique he learned while studying Ten, and calmed the torrents of nostalgia. The round half-domes were still intact. Door hinges were broken. The weeds wrested control of the pathways. Paint peeled from the round geometric designs, but they were still distinguishable, but from their marks he could remember which house belonged to which family.

He entered the first one. Cups and plates still lay intact on the table. This family must have been killed while preparing for a meal. Gyo radiating from his eyes, he checked every corner. There were no signs of bloodshed or violence, like as if the entire village people had just picked up and left. But there were stains that the clean-up committee could not remove. Dark stains of blood across the wall, crusted between furniture from where people were hiding and dragged to their deaths. Most of what seemed to be of value had been long plundered. They had few possessions to begin with, and he scowled at the desecration of everything he had long loved.

He visited the rest of the houses. Everything was surprisingly well-preserved despite the disorder, but he found nothing. No aura, nothing surprising. The day was so beautiful, in sharp contrast to the horror that happened in the place he was standing on. He should have known that whoever had massacred his people would cover his tracks. Was all hope futile?

The one home he refused to gaze at or step into was his own. There was nothing for him there, nothing but despair and rage.

"The last one," he murmured. There had always been a house on the outskirts of the forest, a bit far removed from the rest of the clan. The family living there, he had been told, were rather eccentric and preferred to keep to themselves. A girl older than him lived there, he believed, with her mother, and that was all he remembered.

He pried open the door, and the musty odor of dust coated the air. Something about this house was different than the others. He could feel it. It bothered him, barging into the graves of his clansmen, but he had little choice. From cursory appearance, this room seemed the same as all the others. His foot knocked on something hollow.

"A basement?" He lifted the carpet and found a tiny square wooden tile. He lifted it and discovered a well-concealed basement. He jumped down. It wasn't very large. There were some scrolls and preserved food, no doubt long spoiled. What he found strange, however, was a small protrusion from the wall. As he dug it up, he realized it was hiding a strongbox. It was neither small nor large. He tried to open it. The lid wouldn't budge. Annoyed, he pried harder. No effect. There was not an ordinary box in the world Kurapika couldn't open with his enhanced strength. There was something peculiar about this one. It was time to try a different approach. Using his Ren, he concentrated on searching for any cracks or openings. Like this he continued for an hour, but nothing happened.

He grew more agitated with each passing minute. Something about this box called to him as an important piece of the puzzle. With a renewed wave of frustration, his eyes burned scarlet.

"Open!" he commanded.

The box clicked softly, and emanated bright red. Then the pieces shattered, revealing its only contents.

A small girl.

"Impossible."

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End file.
